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We are live with Season Two of the Intrepid Ocean !

The Intrepid Ocean has taken me through twenty-four countries and territories over four years. Season One was about remote isolation — my family and I stuck at sea when the world shut down. Season Two is about our return, not to a place we’d left, but into new places entirely. To new energy. The series focuses exclusively on the voyage up the eastern coast of America and back. Sailing through the swamps of Virginia, into the foggy waters of Cape Cod, and up to the rocky coastlines of Maine. To the lights of Boston, the chaos and grandeur of New York, then inland along the Potomac, all the way to the capital. The land was full of noise. The ocean stayed quiet. And in that contrast, we stumbled on something we didn’t even realise we were looking for. Intrepid Ocean Series Two ⛵️🇺🇸 - Tuesday 29th 1pm ET - @SuperRare

The Intrepid Ocean series has been shot over four years of sailing with my family on a 40ft sailboat though through twenty-four countries and territories.

Season one was about remote isolation - my family and I stuck at sea when the world shut down.

Season two was about is about our return, not to a place we’d left, but into new places entirely. To new energy. The series focuses exclusively on the voyage up the eastern coast of America and back. Sailing through the swamps of the Carolinas and Virginia, into the foggy waters of Cape Cod, and up to the rocky coastlines of Maine. To the lights of Boston, the chaos and grandeur of New York, then inland along the Potomac, all the way to the capital.

No Turning Back - The sea was calm, unnaturally so. A roll cloud appeared in the distance—grey, sharp, and without end. We were between Cape Cod and Maine, almost at the end of a journey that had started many months ago far south in the southern Caribbean, in Aruba, just offshore from Venezuela. I dashed out to get this photo before scrambling to get the sails down. When you choose a life at sea, you have to accept situations like this. Once you’re out there, there is no turning back. All you can do is prepare for what is to come.

Liberty - We sailed down the East River from Long Island Sound, through the swirling current of Hell Gate, under the span of the Brooklyn Bridge, and around the southern tip of Manhattan. The city rose around us in all its grandeur - steel, glass, chaos. That night, we anchored beneath the Statue of Liberty. The sky glowed with artificial light, and the city pulsed behind her. We were the only boat in the anchorage. Alone in the quiet, with eight million people in the background, it felt like we had found a pause in the middle of everything - a small piece of stillness in a place that never stops moving.

Blackwater - We move slowly through the cut, the water dark and smooth as oil as we try to avoid hidden obstacles beneath the surface. Trees rise on either side, bare, pale trunks standing in silence with their roots sunk deep in mud. Somewhere behind us lie the coast, the wind, the world, but here it is just water and trees, a place that asks for little, only that you pass through quietly. The photo shows our friends gliding ahead on one of the blackwater rivers of North Carolina, where the water runs black from tannins released by decaying plant matter in the swamps upstream

Ghosts of the Potomac - We came in slow, the river wide and still, with fog rising off the banks and the mast cutting through the quiet. The Potomac ran deep and dark beneath us. The freezing air bit into our skin. On either side, the land was full of history—old battle lines, old names, things long buried but never quite gone. The kids looked for prehistoric shark tooth fossils on the banks. We passed under bridges and power lines, past broken wharves and silent trees as we headed towards the capital of the republic.

Race Rock - Built in 1878, Race Rock Lighthouse rises where clashing currents guard the edge of Long Island Sound, a stretch long marked by shipwrecks and hard-earned passages. By 1837 eight vessels had already been lost in as many years on Race Rock Reef, underscoring the need for a guiding light. We passed it on a grey day, alone on the water, the stone tower weathered yet still watching after all these years.

Boston Gold - Boston has a long memory. The harbour has seen clipper ships and cold wars, cod fleets and colonists. That night it held us too, just at the city’s edge, as the last light turned everything to gold.

Cape Cod Bay - We slipped through the Cape Cod Canal at first light and headed north for Maine. The water lay almost motionless, a sheet of pale blue glass. After what felt like hours, the fog finally began to burn off, and sunlight struck the surface, scattering into long, bright ribbons.

Northern Calm - A quiet moment as the sun sets, anchored up behind the Goslings in Casco Bay, Maine. The light on the water was soft and low, and the sea had gone flat with the slack tide. The kind of stillness you don’t find on land. Just the sea, the fading light.

The Great Dismal Swamp - The water was dark and flat. Trees closed in on both sides with late autumn fire. We moved slowly, the engine low and steady in case we hit submerged logs. This was the Great Dismal Swamp. Men had once hidden here—runaways, fighters, those who wanted to disappear. Moonshine was made in here. It was quiet now, but not empty. You could feel the past pressing in through the trees. Three days passing through the swamp. We didn’t say much. Just watched the way the light hit the water and tried to keep the boat in the middle.

Sentinel - Sailing in Maine is a little like sailing blind. The fog is thick, and you’re mostly using radar, making last-minute swerves to avoid the millions of lobster pots. The first thing we saw after days of sailing was the lighthouse on Ram Island Ledge. It parted out of the fog like a ghost - sudden, solid, and exactly where it needed to be.

Lowcountry - We ghosted along a narrow tidal creek in the South Carolina low-country, the marsh grass bending with each breath of wind. For hours we saw no other boat, only the long shadow of the mast sliding across the marsh, a moving mark on a landscape that otherwise seemed content to stay exactly as it is.

Soundless - We drift through a hush of pale-green water and half-formed mist in Cape Cod Bay, our white sail the only solid thing in a world that has gone soft at the edges. There is no shoreline, no horizon; only a quiet expanse where colour, depth and distance blur into one. The hull leaves almost no wake, and even the wind feels muffled. The silence is deafening. Seems like we have slipped outside time itself, a small, bright certainty floating inside an endless hush

Available for 0.69 on @SuperRare . Acceping offers of 0.5 for holders of Season 1 and Full Set Intrepid Ocean Edition holders